


A Gift from the Queen

by GettingOverGreta



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Armor, F/M, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettingOverGreta/pseuds/GettingOverGreta
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, is enjoying an affair with her Lord Commander, Ser Jorah Mormont. She commissions a new set of armor for him that is purely for her convenience.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 22
Kudos: 52
Collections: Jorleesi Equinox Exchange -Spring 2020





	A Gift from the Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MormontLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MormontLady/gifts).



> My first fic for this pairing - please be gentle, LOL. This was a fun prompt even if it didn't go in quite the direction I expected. I hope you enjoy it, MormontLady! (I tried to sneak in a bit of one of your other prompts as well.)

Daenerys Targaryen, now well-settled into her role as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms thought Ser Jorah Mormont, her most loyal knight, looked well in the armor of a Lord Commander. Indeed at times she thought she was quite dazzled to see him in the finest armor he had ever worn in her service. Ser Jorah had occupied her mind’s eye when she had chosen to restore the white and silver armor her ancestors had favored, for while the dark colors of the North favored him, she had wanted to rid herself of the image of Cersei’s black-clad Queensguard. Besides, she had missed the light and color of Essos. It warmed her to see her new dragon sigil enameled in red on his chest, and a white cloak as long as she was tall twisting at his shoulders in the Northern fashion and flowing down his back. Each man in her Queensguard also wore the sigil of their own house on his pauldrons – as well as horses for the few remaining Dothraki, while the Unsullied chose a fierce desert scarab. And Jorah, the last Mormont, her Lord Commander wore the bear rampant that had decorated the shields of Bear Island’s men.

“He is quite different from the bear you wore in Essos,” Daenerys had said with a soft smile the first time she saw it, tracing the lines of the etching on Jorah’s shoulder.

Jorah had given her a small smile in return. “I’m not sure the armorer in Qarth had ever actually seen a bear. Though I suppose it was close, if the bear was more interested in his supper than a good fight.”

The Long Night had changed something within her and sent cracks through her dragon’s heart. For some months she felt as though she could not stop looking at Ser Jorah, could not stop touching him when she had the chance, so relieved was she that he still lived and breathed. She would have dressed him head to toe in Valyrian steel if she could. While he recovered from his injuries from the War against the Dead, Daenerys feared that she would have to give him up to Bear Island; she had promised to take him home once, and now they were so close. But after The Long Night Jorah had never wanted to feel such cold again and instead chose to be at her side in King’s Landing. The unsettled feeling in her gut when she saw him now was just the vestiges of that fear of losing him again, she assured herself, and it would settle when her reign was more established.

One night, however, she called him to her chambers to discuss her worries about the remains of her khalasar and their attempts to re-establish themselves in Westeros. A more suitable topic for her Hand, perhaps, but Tyrion would never understand the situation the way Jorah would. Jorah arrived quickly – he seemed to sleep little, for a man his age – he sat with her at table and listened, only offering his counsel when she paused. 

They had come so far, she realized, as she gazed at the lines of his face, his pale blue eyes that were soft in watching her when they were so sharp and shrewd as he guarded her. Having him here meant the world to her, the last man who remembered her fearful wedding, her difficult early marriage, her heartbreaking losses, and witnessed the glorious birth of her dragons. He should have been broken by everything he had experienced, what he had brought upon himself and what she had foisted on him, yet here he stood, strong and resolute.

Luckily not actually standing at the moment, because if he had been standing, she couldn’t have so easily leaned across the corner of the table and stunned him with a simple kiss. Kissed him, touched him, and nearly dragged him back to her bed. He was, she supposed, out of practice – she had never even seen him touch a woman in the khalasar (and there had certainly been gossip around the cookfires that the foreign knight looked a bit long in the tooth but quite well in the saddle). But oh, he was devoted, and thorough, and as much as she wanted him to stay he gently chided her that it wouldn’t do for him to be discovered there in the morning.

Overall, she considered it one of the better decisions she'd made since coming to King's Landing. She had been lonely, she realized, and far better to have Ser Jorah, who already loved her, than any grasping young nobleman who might want a piece of her reign.

Yet as the weeks passed, Daenerys thought she missed something. She had sweet nights and stolen kisses, but there was something so…closed off about it. Her first love had been Drogo, and life in the khalasar gave them freedom she did not have as a queen. Of course, their time together was mainly in their tent, but if they wished to go off by themselves to couple in the open air, they could. Her awful wedding night was not the only time the stars had blinked over their love-making. (She swore Drogo had halted the entire khalasar for the day once because she had raised an eyebrow at him at an opportune time.) Fucking could be spontaneous, not saved for the night-time, if they so wished it. As for the men that followed, well, Daario never hesitated to be inappropriate (though such trysts were rare since Meereen's open, airy pyramid left her with little privacy) and she and Jon had sometimes hidden away from their worries in a cave or two. She had high expectations for how and when she might chase her desires.

The day after Daenerys realized this, she asked Jorah to remain behind after their council meeting, and after a few brief pleasantries, she moved to kiss him, less in the tender way she often did when she was sneaking a peck, but in the hungry way she greeted him at night. Her knight happily acquiesced, and it was only when she was in his arms that she realized there was a problem.

Armor. Quite a lot of it. The very armor that she had been gazing at fondly for months, and now it was in her way. By the time she managed to get him sufficiently unstrapped, it would be time for another meeting, and if she was late, someone might come looking for her.

“I suppose it would be very indiscreet to even try this,” Daenerys said, pouting a little. Her Lord Commander gave her a sly smile.

“I am afraid so, Khaleesi. Though I would visit you this evening, if you are free. But until then – “ Jorah took her mouth again, stroking her tongue with his own until she was absolutely aching for him…and then took a step back, gesturing for her to lead the way to her next obligation. Daenerys glared, but her knight simply blinked his blue eyes, a playful smile just curling the edges of his mouth. This was torture, she thought, revenge for years of longing that she had made him endure.

“I will see you in my chambers tonight. I really must get caught up on my Northern history.”

“I can think of a few volumes that I can bring.”

“I suppose.” She smirked. “I would have thought you’d lived through most of it, my knight.” She playfully kissed the corner of his mouth and swept from the room.

If Ser Jorah thought a bit of plate was going to come between a dragon queen and her desires, then her dearest knight greatly underestimated her. She was always very determined about getting what she wanted when she wanted it, and she had a wicked idea for how to do just that. For she had overheard a conversation at court the other day, just a passing thing she found amusing at the time, but a Knight from the Vale telling a lady about an armorer in King’s Landing who had tricks, unusual skill in making armor that defied expectation.

A few days later, Missandei accompanied her on a quick excursion to said armorer. Daenerys had a very specific request, which required a certain level of quality, but also a measure of discretion and creativity.

“Is this wise, your Grace?” Missandei asked. “It does not seem practical to have – weaknesses in such important equipment.”

“Oh, they will not be weaknesses. Will they, good ser?” Daenerys asked the armorer.

“Certainly not, Your Grace. Only you will know the secret. Mind you, if you had to send him into battle, you probably want the original article.”

“Quite, my aim here is functional, but largely ceremonial,” Daenerys said. “I will look forward to the delivery.” She wished the man a good day, and returned to the Red Keep, distracted by all the possibilities that her palace held.

*********************************************

Some time later, Daenerys invited Jorah to her quarters of an evening. He was rather taken aback to find that his queen awaited him in her solar rather than her bedchamber, and even more surprised that she waited with a new set of armor, as well as Jorah’s young squire, Khojo. The boy was one of the few remaining Dothraki, already highly skilled in caring for horses, and now learning how to be a proper Westerosi knight…more or less. Tyrion did not appreciate this decision, as the squire to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard should have been a prized position for a high-born son, but Daenerys pointed out that he was her responsibility, since she had brought him to Westeros, and he had no family left in the khalasar…and the number of knights who spoke Dothraki was exactly one. Jorah himself didn’t entirely care for the idea, but with his new duties he needed the assistance.

“Khojo, dress Ser Jorah in his new armor, please.” Daenerys smiled as Ser Jorah furrowed his brow in confusion. But Daenerys wanted to be reassured that the armor did not appear significantly different to even a boy who cared for that armor every day. With Khojo’s assistance, Jorah layered cuirass, faulds, rerebraces, and pauldrons over his gambeson. Khojo fastened the vambraces over his forearms, and Ser Jorah stood before her, noble and bold in his gaze.

“Truly it is excellent armor, my queen.” Jorah declared with a nod. She smiled, pleased with her clever purchase.

“I am pleased to hear that, Ser.” She looked to Khojo. “You may go, Khojo. Ser Jorah will not require any further assistance this evening.”

“Of course. I bid you good evening, Kha - Your Grace, Ser Jorah,” Khojo replied with a bow, and hurried out of the room, his short braid swinging a little behind him. She thought she saw a hint of an adolescent smirk on his young face, though she supposed it was charming enough. The boy did grow up in a khalasar, she could hardly expect him to be innocent in his knowledge of men and women.

“Your squire grows more Westerosi by the day, Ser,” Daenerys teased.

“Yes, no doubt some scribe will add _The Tale of the Chivalrous Horselord_ to the next version of your book of songs and histories,” Jorah said dryly. “And if I may ask, Khaleesi, why do I have new armor?”

“Because I wanted you to have something better.” Daenerys stood before him, just close enough to brush her lips against his. She traced the swirl of the dragons forged onto his chest. Sliding her hands from his chest to his waist, she sought the uneven place the armorer had promised would be there, and pressed her fingers into them. With a snap, the faulds at Jorah’s waist detached from his cuirass. Putting them aside on her dresser, Daenerys nudged him backwards into a chair. Then she slipped her thin fingers beneath his pauldrons and pressed at the smallest ridge in the metal. The cuirass parted at the shoulders and sides, allowing Daenerys to carefully ease the whole contraption off of him.

“I want my knight to be available at my merest wish,” Daenerys replied, and swept the two sides of his long gambeson apart. She lifted her own skirt to straddle his legs, savoring the heat of him, the tense tremble of a man who still didn’t quite believe that his dreams of her were now within reach. She pressed a hungry kiss to his mouth, eagerly drinking in the taste of his mouth.  
She rocked against him, pressed kisses along his jaw. Jorah’s hands seemed to come to life around her, one hand grasping her arse, the other pressing against her back to pull her closer. She could feel him growing harder against her mound and she hummed happily at his lips on her neck. With a questing hand she easily rearranged their smallclothes and proceeded to ride her dearest knight as eagerly as any khal, until her pleasure peaked with a soft, broken cry. 

Breathing hard, Daenerys trembled in his arms, gazing at Jorah’s cool blue eyes that had darkened in the candlelight. Gripping the top of the chair behind him, she rose up and down a few more times, just enough to bring him close…then paused, kissing him deeply. Jorah groaned in protest, but he did not fight her dominance. She repeated the action once more, savoring how he filled her.

“Touch me,” Daenerys whispered, and gasped as Jorah reached for her pearl, rubbing her with sharp, quick strokes. Her second peak was sharper, almost too intense, and she rose and fell frantically against him, until Jorah’s eyes fluttered shut and she felt his release inside her. 

When she kissed him again, it was almost vicious, her teeth rough against his bottom lip.

“Now then,” she murmured. “The real brilliance of your gift.” She eased herself from his lap with some assistance from a handkerchief – and gestured at Jorah’s armor, which he was able to reassemble in only two minutes or so, without her assistance. “Now if I was truly in a hurry, we only need remove the faulds,” she teased. “But I like to have options.”

“Indeed, Khaleesi,” Jorah replied, a rather wicked spark in his own eyes. Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

*********************************************

Daenerys granted Jorah a few days to become accustomed to the new set of armor before putting it to the test. She concluded it was indeed effective, since her Lord Commander currently had her gasping for breath at the foot of a stairwell in an obscure corridor of the Red Keep, her back pressed against the wall as she grasped at his collar. After kneeling before her and thoroughly worshiping her sex with his mouth, Jorah had flicked the fastener removing the lower half of his armor. Daenerys had hooked her leg over his hip as he used the step to bring her closer to his height. She had groaned as he eased inside her, tangling her hand in his hair. Now he thrust up into her, dragging her up onto her toes, the plate still on his chest crushing her breasts between them. She clawed at the wall behind her for purchase, the danger of the hallway making Jorah’s thrusts urgent, faster than he preferred. It was intense, but not particularly comfortable, and she suspected her legs would tire out before he did.

Then to her shock, Jorah picked her up as if she was as light as a feather, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist. She cried out despite herself, Jorah’s rough, desperate thrusts leaving her panting. She bit down on the silk that covered the curve of his neck and shrieked through her teeth, trembling as her thighs burned and her body grew taut as her pleasure exploded like dragon fire. She didn’t even realize Jorah had finished until he was gingerly moving to lower her to the floor again on shaky legs. He hastily reassembled his armor while Daenerys tried to smooth the wrinkles in her dress and comb her hair back into place.

“Jorah? Is something wrong?” she asked, as Jorah rubbed his lower back. She reached up to brush his hair away from his eyes, pausing to sweep her thumb over his bottom lip. Jorah briefly caught her gaze before lowering his eyes with a sheepish smile.

“Not really, my queen. I think I briefly forgot that I am well past my thirtieth name day.”

Daenerys laughed softly. “Were you doing that so often before your thirtieth name day, Ser?”

“It would be most unchivalrous to tell, my Queen.” He offered her his arm, and they made their way back to her throne room.

She’d get him to tell her eventually, she decided. But only in the comfort of her bed.

*********************************************

A few more opportunities to take advantage of the armor’s secrets popped up, but in truth they were very much alone, and Daenerys supposed that she simply enjoyed the cleverness of her toy. She fucked him eagerly in absolute silence in her locked office, while a meeting of Red Keep maesters went on in the next room. She also persuaded Jorah to try a dragon ride again (actually riding on Drogon’s back this time) and then a very different sort of dragon ride in the field where he landed. They might as well have been back in the Dothraki sea, as the grass waved around them, the sunshine making her hair shimmer. She felt sated but silly and small afterwards, resting on his chest until the sun began to dip. If anyone was tempted to wander in their direction, Drogon’s smoking nostrils easily warded them off.

Jorah’s special armor had its next particularly useful outing when Daenerys made the unusual decision to ride in a carriage to a ceremony for the groundbreaking of the new Sept of Baelor. She sat in Jorah’s lap, her head tipped back to swallow his kiss, bouncing on his cock as the carriage bounced along the roads. She came with his name on her lips as they passed a cheering crowd, hoping to spy a glimpse of silver hair.

Tyrion looked distinctly displeased with her when her retinue finally arrived, muttering about the carriage smelling like a brothel. Jorah’s ears flushed crimson with mortification, and Daenerys briefly fell speechless, blinking at the audacity of her Hand. She stepped forward to tower over him (a rare occurrence for her, and oddly satisfying if deeply petty) and felt a tremor, her dragon within suddenly flaring up to her flushed cheeks.

“What I do behind closed doors is none of your business, my good Hand.” Her words were polite, but her venom unmistakable.

“Certainly,” Tyrion replied. “But perhaps you could avoid doing things where the doors risk opening?” Tyrion reached out and wiggled the door of the litter. “That latch has been loose since my sister used this carriage.” He raised his eyebrows at Daenerys, and unceremoniously gestured for her to lead the way to the site of the new sept.

She thought Ser Jorah looked a little pale, when she spared him a glance.

*********************************************

While it was hardly her forte, Daenerys concluded that Tyrion was _annoyingly_ correct, and she needed to practice self-restraint with Jorah. She restricted their liaisons to her bed, though it left her oddly sad that she could not keep him in her arms all night. While she had always been careful to be queenly and stern in her small council meetings and her audiences, she was even more so now, mindful that Jorah had always been a private man, and her affections should not be a source of embarrassment for him.

“Do the others spend their nights like this?” Daenerys asked Jorah one night, her finger circling the scar that crept so dangerously close to his heart. “I know what the vows say, but I cannot imagine other Queensguard have not been tempted.”

Jorah sighed. “I cannot say, Khaleesi. Some of the Unsullied have no interest in lovers, some do, but they are resolutely private men. I think the Dothraki find the women here rather…soft.”

Daenerys laughed quietly. “I think they might have to reconsider their seduction techniques here.”

“I don’t know. I’ve wandered through so many lands, and dancing and drink are not so different from place to place. Those who chose to stay have adapted, I suppose.” Jorah's eyes crinkled as he smiled, and she rolled over onto her stomach, pressing a kiss to a soft patch of unscarred skin on his upper arm.

“And the others? The Westerosi? What about them?” she asked. Jorah tenderly stroked a finger over her cheek before he spoke.

“Ser Lenod cares not for women or wine. Or people, particularly. He might have been a fine septon if he had not had to focus on battle. Ser Andrus adores a lady from the Vale. I am not sure he would have chosen his vow if he had seen her first.”

Daenerys thought about Ser Andrus, the youngest of her Queensguard, a Northman with so many brothers that his family was still rather substantial after the Long Night. He had made his choice so early in life, knowing that there could be little for him at home. She had made her own choices so early, felt them pressed upon her whether she wanted them or not, wrapped up in an unbreakable wedding cloak of her destiny.

“Would you choose this life again, Jorah? To serve me, if you knew – all that would come?” His gaze softened, and Daenerys felt her own heart throb in sympathy at the love in his eyes. 

“I am not even sure it was a choice, Khaleesi. When I realized you would be the true queen, it was as though the world had suddenly been set to rights and set ablaze, all at once. My love for you became a sustaining force, through all of those struggles. I could not imagine another path.”

Daenerys could all too easily imagine another path, one where Ser Jorah had gone back to Bear Island, taken a Northern wife, and restored his house. Yet she could not easily bear to let him leave her, and acted as though she expected him to remain with her, daring him in her mind to ask to return to the North. He never did. His choice to stay was a boon indeed, for she had needed him at her side when the idea of having him in her bed was laughable. And she needed him more now.

Preferably right now.

“Have you recovered, Ser?” She asked playfully, and then pounced on her bear before he could answer.

*********************************************

Good behavior was practical, yes, but it was also miserably dull at times. Daenerys had quite enjoyed having an occasional tryst to add a spark to her day, but she worried that now it was too obvious. She wasn’t even certain that Jorah still wore the “special” armor she had made for him. Following an especially wretched meeting on the subjects of taxes, brothels, and something even more excruciatingly boring – lentils, perhaps? - Daenerys allowed Ser Jorah to guide her down a corridor that was not her usual path to her chambers. Indeed, when she came to a flight of stairs, he nodded for her to ascend, then came to a room in what was clearly a tower. Ser Jorah opened the door with a key she had not seen before, and she stepped inside. She was drawn immediately to the large window of the room and brushed aside the heavy curtain, revealing a brilliant blue sky. The curtain fell around her, as she rested her elbows on the windowsill, staring down at the dizzying height. Her view was breathtaking, Kings Landing and the Blackwater Bay beyond it, every inch of it hers, with fire and blood.

“Did you want to remind me of what I have worked so hard to win?” Daenerys asked, closing her eyes to feel the sunshine on her face.

“Perhaps. And perhaps for other reasons.” Daenerys hummed, smiling to herself as she felt Jorah lift her skirt. They hadn’t done this for weeks, perhaps even her very serious knight could be bored with the mundane nature of ruling. Then she heard the sound of tearing fabric behind her and felt a lick of cool air sweeping up her thighs. “Jorah? What in the seven hells?” She glanced over her shoulder, but Jorah nodded for her to face forward. It was not his place…but she could feel the spark of her arousal just beginning to flourish.

She could trust him. He would always take care of her.

“It’s just the underskirt, Khaleesi. We’ll blame Drogon if need be,” he replied. She sighed as she felt his hands still in their leather gloves, stroking her thighs, cupping her arse. This was a terrible idea, an awful idea, anyone could accidentally spot her at the window – and the idea sent a hot flush along her neck and cheeks. She pitched herself forward more, listening to the sound of Jorah’s breath, then feeling it against her skin before his tongue glided in a stripe along her sex and he nudged her thighs further apart. He had to be kneeling behind her now, she realized, as he spread her sex apart with his hands and began to taste her with long, sweeping strokes, stubble rubbing against her thighs. Daenerys sighed, letting herself give in to his hands, his mouth, his devotion to her.

If she’d had this, Daenerys wondered, if there had been any moment where her desire had turned towards him, would she have become conqueror and queen? Or would she have been content to hide away with him, dissolving into each other over and over in some corner of Essos? 

Daenerys stared out at the bustling city, the bay and the kingdoms that lay beyond it as Jorah’s tongue flicked inside her, and in a rush of pure, striking heat, she felt his words in her very soul. She could not imagine another path. She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, of the Andals and the First Men, and Jorah was meant to be hers.

“Jorah, now, please,” she begged, her body feeling as though it might twist in on itself in emptiness. No one had taken her from behind since Drogo, she had never wanted it, but she could let Jorah have her this way, only Jorah. He pressed inside her slowly, thick and heavy, and Daenerys let out a little whine. His first thrust pushed her forward a bit, and she wondered if any of the people below would notice her silver head leaning over the edge. Jorah gripped her securely and she gasped as he drove himself harder and deeper inside her.

“Fuck – please Jorah. Just like that,” she said, realizing that even if they could see her, no one would hear her unless she screamed outright. He pressed a hand against her mound as he stroked deeply inside her, and little time passed before she started gasping, her breath becoming uneven as her legs trembled like a colt’s. She felt her peak start to burn, pleasure surging until he slid his hand down to deliver a few decisive strokes to her little bud. At that very moment, she was spotted, and forced her face into a joyous smile as she waved to the small group in the courtyard, panting desperately the entire time.  
Jorah held her there as he muttered a curse and his hips stuttered to a finish, spilling over the back of her thighs. She smiled benevolently at her kingdom, as Jorah wiped away the evidence of their coupling, and pulled her back inside.

Daenerys turned and pulled him down to kiss her, biting possessively at his lower lip. She nuzzled his cheek, slid her hands along the warm metal of the plate on his chest.

“I should have done this sooner,” She whispered. “In Qarth, in Astapor and Yunkai. On Dragonstone and at Winterfell. We have always been meant for this.” There was something like fear in his eyes at her words, and Daenerys thought she had never been so convinced of his love.

*********************************************

Daenerys surprised her Hand and her Small Council with an impromptu meeting the following morning, with a topic she decided needed discussion.

“As you all know, my goals as a Queen have focused on improving the lives of the people in Westeros. But it has not occurred to me that I needed to start in my very own household.” She smiled softly at Ser Jorah, and then at Ser Red Beetle, who stood watch near the door. “I wish to hire additional Queensguard. At least five more men – or indeed, women if there are any who are suitable. They will no longer be required to eschew wives and children, but I will require that if they own any property it will be here in Kings’ Landing. I believe Ser Jorah would agree that distant travel will make it too difficult to keep a fair schedule."

Tyrion frowned. “Your Grace, is this wise? The entire idea of the Queensguard is to avoid divided loyalties.”

“Any man may have divided loyalties, Lord Tyrion. I will not have them suffer for it, when I would be allowed such happiness if I pursued it. Besides, the City Watch performs well, and they take no such vows.”

The discussion was spirited, but in the end, Daenerys brought the others around to her way of thinking. She would break another wheel that day, if only a small one.

*********************************************

When she sent for Ser Jorah that night, she waited for him in her solar, knowing he would want to talk above anything else. He didn’t dare to question her motives in front of the council, and perhaps it had been cruel to surprise him in that way. He arrived, bowed his head and greeted her in his usual way, but then – oh, he looked stricken.

“I do not understand this change, Khaleesi. It is and has always been an honor to serve in this role.”

“And it still will be – but I will not take happiness from the people who serve me, not if I can help it.” She rose to her feet and took his hands, bringing them to her heart. “I think it has been many years since your loyalty rested on anyone but me. But you are you, and most men are not.”

Indeed they were not. Every woman in the Seven Kingdoms could probably tell of a man who was not their man, not the man that they – Daenerys took a sharp intake of breath, as the strange feeling in her gut as she looked at him returned. _The man they loved._ It was so obvious, how could she be a queen and be so foolish?

But then her brother’s foolishness had brought down their family years ago. She would not repeat his mistakes. Instead, Daenerys drew herself up as tall as she could, and smiled her most regal smile.

“We love each other,” she declared, her mouth suddenly dry, and her heart racing despite, or perhaps from, the surge of joy flowing through her, filling Jorah’s eyes, making her feel as though the room was vast as the Great Grass Sea. “You have always helped me see myself and my world more clearly, and yet indulged me, even when I am ridiculous. Your words have filled my own story for years. I could not be without you, and shouldn’t everyone have that, if they are so fortunate as to find it?”

His kiss overwhelmed her, and she was indeed grateful once more for how easily his clever armor slipped away from his body. They did not arrive at her bed, but fell upon a chaise near the wide, open balcony. Perhaps it was not making love under the stars as she knew it in Essos, but she had to admit it was altogether more suitable for a queen and her most beloved knight.


End file.
